untain side."

"Ah," cried the man, "you are talking like a boy."

"And so are you, Serge, when you say such things as you did just now.
Now, look here; you are going to do as father said, pack up all the
armour in the old chest, and then you are going to speak out and tell
him that you are sorry that you listened to me, and then it will be all
over and we shall go on again just the same as before. You and I will
think out something that we can learn or do, and talk of something else
besides fighting. There, let's have no more talking about going away.
Look sharp and get it over. I shan't be happy till I see you and father
shaking hands again. Now promise me you will go and get it done."

"'Tis done, boy; I did speak and made myself humble, just as you want;
but he wouldn't take it right, and you know what he said. I can't never
forget it now. He wouldn't listen to me, and no words now, no shaking
hands, will put it straight. I shall have to go."

"Oh!" cried Marcus. "What an obstinate old bull it is! Yes, I mean it,
Serge; you are just like a human bull. Now, look here; do as I tell
you. You have got to go and speak to father as I say."

"Nay, boy," said the man, solemnly, "not a word. I am going to do my
bit of work, the last job I shall ever do here, and then it will be
good-bye."

Marcus sprang up in a passion.

"I can't bring you to your senses," he said. "You are too stubborn and
blunt. If you won't promise me you will go and speak to father, I shall
go myself and tell him all you say."

"Do, boy; that's right! I like to hear you turn like that. Hit me and
kick me if you will. It will all make it easier for me to go away."

Marcus stood up before him, looking at him fiercely, and he was about to
flash out a torrent of angry words, but, feeling that he would say
something of which he might afterwards repent, he dashed out of the room
and made for his father's study.

CHAPTER SIX.

MAKING THE BEST OF IT.

Cracis was deep in thought, seated by the open window, with the double
roll of a volume in his hands, reading slowly line by line of the old
papyrus Romano-Grecian writings of one of the philosophers, and, as he
came to each line's end, it slowly disappeared beneath the upper roll,
while the nether was opened out to leave the next line visible to the
reader's eye.

Marcus dashed in loudly, but stopped short as he saw how his father was
occupied, and waited for him to speak; but